The Wrong Nose
by Ramzes
Summary: The story behind Baelor Breakspear noble and broken nose.


**The Wrong Nose**

Laughter was the first thing that attracted Baelor's notice. He had come to pay a visit to his mother and found her and Dyanna sitting at a table, their heads bowed over Dyanna's hands. "You have to decide if you're going to be a princess of a gardener," Mariah was saying. "And by the gods, please stay away from the flowerbeds for at least three days before the feast we're throwing for Lord Tully's arrival. Sapphire on the fingers and dirt under the nails, these really don't match. It'll be hard enough to get the dirt out now…"

"May I suggest gloves?" Baelor said and the two women looked up and smiled to acknowledge him.

"I've tried it but I lose the preciseness of my touch," Dyanna replied.

Well, if she wanted to pretend that this was the reason, Baelor did not mind. Perhaps she even believed this. But no one who saw her out of official attire, with her face painted and her hair carefully arranged could make this mistake. The terrible disease had stripped Dyanna of many of the things people could do without thinking and even now, in its shameful retreat, was giving her some little blows. Sometimes, Dyanna's arms would not cooperate with each other to keep her little son within. Baelor doubted it was different with her gardening but if she believed gloves were such an obstacle, so be it.

Even so, Dyanna certainly looked better than a month or just a week ago. She was truly recovering and Baelor was glad to see her return to her favourite pastimes. "I'll leave you to your efforts, then," he said and headed for the door, leaving his mother, goodsister, and two handmaidens trying to scrub or push the dirt from under Dyanna's nails and clean the nail beds. _I can use an hour of practice,_ he thought. _And I have the time. A sword, it's going to be today._ Sword was not his weapon of choice, so he was meticulous at keeping his skills up to standard. I'll call Maekar, he decided. In the long year of Dyanna's decline and slow recovery, Maekar had become better at all arms… as well as rusty, as of lately. It had been hard for him to find opponents since few had been willing to practice against him in his permanent stage of rage. But these days, he had become more composed and…

Composed? The face that Baelor saw upon entering was so rigid in effort to not twist in rage that should Baelor poke a finger in it, the skin would likely break. So much for composure. "What's going on here?" he asked. He couldn't see anything out of order – Aerys engrossed in a book and reading some passages aloud, he supposed, as he was wont to, and still, the tension in the chamber was so palpable that it hit Baelor like a wave. Of course, Aerys looked oblivious to the fact that the barely departed winter had returned, ice and all, confined between these four walls and many alcoves.

"Nothing," Aerys and Maekar said at the same time but Aerys meant it.

Baelor took a seat and decided that perhaps today wasn't the day for practice after all. Maekar looked as disgruntled as a bear suffering from toothache and he would undoubtedly swipe a paw like one. _You'll tell me all about it yourselves without actually addressing me,_ Baelor thought but even he, long used to Aerys' sheer thirst for knowledge, was shocked when Aerys read the next passage. "Do you see now?" he asked, looking at Maekar. "Healers think that diseases like this one are the attempt of the body trying to destroy itself."

"It's very interesting indeed," Maekar said, his teeth gritted. "Are we done now?"

"Just a little longer. They say that few women ever survive the cutting…"

"What does it matter?" Maekar was losing his forced composure. "Dyanna survived it."

Aerys consulted his book again. "It says that sometimes, many years pass before the disease returns… Why are you looking at me like this? Don't you want to know?"

"Not at all," Maekar replied. "But I suppose you're going to tell me anyway."

For a moment, Baelor thought of suggesting to Maekar to leave but it would be of no use. The moment had long fled. Maekar had missed the chance and now, his mounting fury would not let him go away. What had gotten into Aerys to enlighten their brother about the specifics of Dyanna's illness and its possible return? The girl had barely recovered, and not entirely, at this!

"It's good that Dyanna even survived it because most who do are old women. Of course, most of those who have it are old women to start with… They have less for the Stranger to take from them, perhaps."

"Shut up," Baelor said before Maekar could do so, and Aerys looked up, surprised.

"I'm only trying to help. One must know what they face so they could deal with it."

Baelor wondered in which book his brother had read this. It was true, of course it was but sometimes… what facing could they talk about when Jena had heard Dyanna scream through multiple pair of doors, the pain cutting through the sea of milk of the poppy that they had poured in her throat? What facing could they talk about when basically, it all broke down to hoping that the Stranger had forgotten about Dyanna? Aerys was a good and caring man but sometimes, Baelor thought he should have been left to deal with books and prohibited from meeting people.

Maekar's hands slowly clenched in fists. Baelor could see that he knew it and fought it but it happened anyway. "Dyanna is well now," he said. "I don't want to hear what your books say about the disease."

"Just one more thing," Aerys said. "You're going to like it, I promise," he added. "They think it can be passed down from mother to daughter, so your boys are safe…"

Baelor didn't even waste time to yell, "No!" He just covered the distance in two swift strides in a desperate bid to stand between his brothers before Maekar could do what he had set about to do – smash Aerys' face…

Unfortunately, he succeeded. Baelor, that was it. And Maekar. As soon as Baelor pushed Aerys back and raised his hands to block Maekar's blow, seared pain blinded him and a fountain of red squirted hot and gushing, falling on the carpet in a soft outpour. Maekar cursed and stepped back. "I'm sorry," he said, all traces of rage gone when Baelor's vision finally cleared enough to take him in. "I… Seven hells, I think I…"

"Oh yes," Baelor growled, not in the mood to appreciate his brother's immediate mortification and genuine regret. "Today, you did something you never quite managed for all those years when we were children fighting each other and you were aiming at _me_. You just broke my bloody nose."

 **The End**


End file.
